


To the Sound of Thunder

by cajunquandary



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Fluff, Love for the Impala, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-15
Updated: 2020-10-15
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:26:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27025792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cajunquandary/pseuds/cajunquandary
Summary: While hunting “Bigfoot” on Flagstaff Mountain, Colorado, Dean realizes that it’s the Impala’s fiftieth birthday and decides to take her out for a scenic drive and share a cold one with the one thing that’s remained steady in his life—his home, his pride, his Baby.
Relationships: None
Kudos: 3





	To the Sound of Thunder

**Author's Note:**

> This is for Baby’s Big 50 Writing Challenge; my prompt was “Night Moves” by Bob Seger. I know I joined it a little late, but I couldn’t resist! Thank you for the opportunity @butiaintgonnaloveem. The amount of daydreaming this fic inspired through the writing process was ridiculous in the most incredible ways. I hope my descriptions do the imagery even so much as a half justice. I may have laughed through tears through this experience more often than I’d like to admit.
> 
> Another note: I chose this location over all others for Jensen Ackles, who said in a recent con that he would love to see the boys go to the Grand Canyon if he could choose anywhere in the US for them to go. Thank you for the long ride here, “Dean;” I hope we have many more miles to go.

“Bigfoot, seriously?”

“Yeah, Dean. The surviving victim swears it was Bigfoot, and that it had bright yellow eyes and claws. The park rangers claim it was a bear attack. The guy was lucky to make it. He said that it ran away after the sun started to come out.”

“Okay, so what are we thinking? Shapeshifter? Werewolf? Rugaru?”

“Well, it was a full moon, and the other victims’ time of death was estimated to all be within the last three days.”

“Well, it could be our thing. If it is, that only gives us one more night to find this sucker and gank it. Where is it again?”

“Flagstaff Mountain in Boulder, Colorado.”

Dean finally looked up from his copy of Busty Asian Beauties that he attempted to hide behind yesterday’s paper. Sam always knew though, especially when the paper (or research book or map, depending on the day) was upside down. Sam just smiled at his older brother. He’s always looked up to him and knew him better than anyone else ever had. Dean could never really hide anything from him, but Sam let him have his private pleasures without ever saying a word, even pretending on more than a few occasions that he didn’t see the those pleasures carelessly laid about when Dean thought he was alone. Instead, he would casually continue conversation, turn his back and pretend to be preoccupied with something in his hands while Dean slowly slid the items out of view.

What Sam didn’t know was that Dean knew why he turned his back. It was a game they’d played since Sammy was a little kid. Dean knew he didn’t mind but loved that he played along. It was something that reminded Dean that his baby brother loved and respected him. That’s why on days that Dean felt like giving up, losing hope, he would leave an open magazine or empty condom wrapper on Sam’s bed and initiate the game. It was never dirty, never a used condom, and always made him feel better, feel loved. After all, Dean doesn’t do chick flick moments.

“Oh really?” Dean failed to conceal his excitement as a huge, toothy grin rolled slowly across his face and his eyes grew big and sparkled. “We leave in ten!” Completely unable to hold himself together anymore, he leapt from the table and sprinted off to his room.

Sam laughed and shook his head, long hair falling slightly in his face. It wasn’t often that he got to see Dean acting like a little kid, excluding hexes and angelic manipulation (yes, we’re looking at you, Zachariah and Gabriel.) Dean’s elation was infectious, and soon Sam was bounding off to throw his bag together as well. It was a good thing that Dean had spent a few hours this morning detailing Baby. While he packed, he shot a quick call to Mary, who was hunting another werewolf with Castiel in Alliance, Nebraska. 

A loud “Whoohoooo!!” echoed through the bunker.

“I take it Dean’s excited,” Mary let out a soft, breathy laugh on the other end of the line.

“Yeah, he’s always wanted to have an excuse to see the Grand Canyon, and now he has one.”

“Alright, well you boys be careful. We are finishing up here and will meet you there.”

“We will, love you Mom.”

“I love you, too, Sam.” She ended the call first, as usual.

“You ready to go, little brother?” Dean popped into Sam’s room, a hand on either side of the door frame as he leaned off balance, the biggest goofiest smile plastered on his face.

“Dude, what are you wearing?” Sam started cracking up at the sight before him. Oversized dark aviators rested on pink, freckled cheeks, a woman’s straw hat the size of Texas haphazardly set on his brother’s head, a backpack with water pouch Sam had never seen before strung over Dean’s left shoulder, the typical duffle bag slung over his right. A disposable camera hung loosely from a lanyard around his neck.

“What are you… not wearing?” Dean pursed his lips in feigned annoyance as he struggled with a comeback. He had never been particularly witty with those.

Before long, the boys were loaded and ready to go, Baby’s tires leaving white smoke and black treads as she screamed forth from the garage.

The intro to “Night Moves” strummed lightly through the cab. “Alriiight! Umph!” Dean readjusted in his seat, swerving slightly, biting his lip and turning up the volume until it was nearly as loud as it could go. He drove with his knee as fisted hands danced through the air in an awful imitation of air guitar, then to the drums. Dean began to sing at the top of his lungs, Sam rolling his eyes, one arm slung over the seat, tapping lightly along behind his brother’s back, his other arm resting on the window pane. As he stared out the window, heart light in his chest for the first time in months, he flashed back to all the other times that Dean danced and sang. Every time it had been in this car.

For some reason, Dean had always felt safe in Baby. She was his, and he was hers. Sam chuckled to himself and sang along, remembering how Dean would spend hours working on her after a hunt, even if he was still bleeding and sore. She always had a full gas tank and new parts and oil, before anything wore out, even if it meant Dean went without a meal or two. Dean always put everything before himself, especially his family, and this car? This car was not a car at all. She was as much family as Sam or Mary or Castiel, as much family as anyone Dean had ever loved.

In return, Baby took care of him, of both of them. She took almost all terrain they’d trekked over like a champ, rain or shine. She protected them from demon-possessed truckers, gave Sam the strength to hold Lucifer back from killing Dean, served as a refuge from attacking demons who flipped her (on more than one occasion), even standing strong when she faced the Darkness. Both times. Sure, she’d been possessed once or twice, and even Sam had become a part of her once thanks to Gabriel. She always stood strong, a warm dry place for the boys to rest their heads when there was nowhere else to go. The Winchester Motel… if she were sentient, she’d like that. She would take pride in it. She was a Winchester.

Even when Dean beat her with a tire iron seventeen times, she didn’t flinch. She was always there for her boys. She’d known them since before they were born. She was there when both were conceived, their first heartbeats had started in her very cab. She was there when Mary’s water broke, and whisked her to the hospital both times. Dean, though, never quite made it to the hospital bed. Instead, he was born right there in the Emergency Entrance drive on the soft old leather of her front seat. His first breath was one full of her scent—the gasoline, oil, metal and leather. It was a scent that he would carry as his own for the rest of his life.

The miles raced passed, the sun setting through her front windshield. The music had since been lowered, and Sam was drifting to sleep. Dean looked over at his brother whose head was lolling towards him. Dean smiled sadly as he remembered the day he practically threw Sam in the Impala and drug him away from Stanford to work cases and look for Dad. He remembered all those pranks they’d play on each other. In fact, it was in this very position that Dean loved to put things like spoons and napkins and ketchup packets in his brother’s slack lips, only to turn the music bag up or swerve hard enough to wake him up. Sam would always sit up wide eyed and confused, usually throwing the items from his mouth back at Dean, or dish out a few solid punches to the arm. Dean would never admit it, but he wore those bruises proudly. His baby bro had grown up so strong, he couldn’t be prouder.

This time though, he let Sam rest, tapping along to the radio, sighing when commercials would interrupt. He flipped down the visor when the sun grew to vibrant in its last rays, lighting up the hood as Baby purred along. Sam sat up in his sleep, then leaned his head against the window, smacking his lips lightly and mumbling something about purple pancakes.

Dean loved it when Sam spoke in his sleep. It rarely made sense, and sometimes he could hold a conversation. Dean reached over and flipped down the other visor, Sam’s face softening in relief.

When night fell, they were nearly there. Dean looked down at the gauges again. It was a habit so ingrained in him, watching and listening to everything the Impala did to make sure she was okay. In fact, he watched her gauges more than his speed, nearly costing him a ticket a few times. Dean smiled as stars reflected off of her hood, slowly sliding across. As a child, he would stand up gripping the dashboard, small fingers holding onto it through the air conditioning outlets that seldom worked when she was John’s. He would watch with bright eyes open wide as the stars and moon passed over her black silhouette and imagine that he was in the fastest space ship. In this fantasy, he was the hero and his dad would ask him for help to defeat the aliens. He would flop back into his seat and point little finger guns out the window and say “Pew pew pew!” while shooting at invisible starships as the dark ground flew by. John always thought Dean was practicing hunting. If he had known the truth, he may not have pushed Dean so hard. You see, in John’s mind, he thought that Dean wanted to be a soldier, even though the poor kid a tender heart and hated practicing on robins. He would cry every time he killed one. Perplexed, John would always yell at him until the tears stopped coming, telling him that a soldier never cries, and if Dean wanted to be a soldier, he had to be tough, and death was just part of the job. Eventually, Dean stopped seeing the what if’s and grand imaginary scenes. He knew there were real monsters, and it was his job to beat them. But, every once and a while, Dean would fall asleep watching the night sky reflected on Baby’s polished hood, and dream of things bigger than this world he carried on his small shoulders.

Baby was more than a car back then, more than a place to sleep when John couldn’t score a motel—she was his spaceship, his escape and his redemption…

But always, she has been his trusty stead on his quest.

Sammy never felt like he had a quest or purpose. Sure, he had imagination longer than Dean, including a friend named Sully. Sully loved Baby, too. Sam would lay down on the backseat floor, his little feet touching the driver’s side door while Sully measured his height. There were tiny notches underneath the front seat, Sam adding a new one every year. He wanted so badly to be as big as his brother and father. They were giants to him, as big as the legends Sully told him about, but not bigger than the Impala. Sam wanted to be bigger than her. The notches are still there. Dean has always known about them, and made sure to keep them every time he had to rebuild her, along with her other details, like the green army man, the blocks, the boys’ initials carved into her floor.

Baby was Sam’s happy place, too. When John would come home drunk and begin to take it out on Dean, it only took one hit to send little Sammy flying into her side when he tried to intervene. It was always an accident, John only ever meant to hit Dean, but it seemed to make John calm down faster and leave them alone, so it was always worth it. Sam would pull Dean up from the ground and push him into the Impala, closing the door behind them. John would be passed out by this point and wouldn’t even notice. Sam would lock the doors anyway as Dean curled into a ball on the seat. His brother never cried in front of him, just stared up at the roof, memorizing her every curve, her silence and protection soothing him slowly to sleep. Sam would sit in the driver’s seat, both hands on the wheel. He couldn’t even see over the dash, but he imagined driving her far away, his brother by his side.

The Impala gracefully turned into the woods, gliding over every bump gently. The movement woke Sam up though, and he rubbed at his eyes, lifting the visor so he could see better. Mary and Castiel were already waiting, silver weapons ready for the werewolf. Mary had made great time and gotten a lead on it from a park ranger. Baby rolled to a stop, her rolling idle silenced as Dean turned the key and got out. The hinges on her doors squeaked a little bit as the pair shut them. Dean could easily fix it, but never would, claiming that it “gave her more character,” as if she really needed any. She had always been a beast of her own, standing out from all the rest, even covered in dust, mud, and monster blood. Dean unlocked her trunk, pulling their weapons out, double checking the magazine on his handgun and the silver bullets that it contained. His hand lingered over the rocket launcher and Sam cleared his throat. Dean rolled his eyes and shut the trunk roughly. Feeling a little bad about handling her like that, he patted her reassuringly before he joined the others and stalked off into the forest to kill the monster, his arm slung over Castiel’s shoulder and the angel walking stiffly by his side.

Baby sat there, nearly invisible in the darkness, only bits of her lit by the moonlight filtering down through the tall trees. A raccoon ambled forth from the bushes, climbing up to her hood, taking pleasure in the smooth warmth. It scampered to the windshield, picking at the wipers curiously before getting bored and going back to sprawl out stomach down over the engine. The radiating warmth of her brought the attention of an owl, a fox, and a few squirrels. The owl perched on the roof, enjoying the vantage point, mesmerized by its reflection. The fox crept up silently and slipped underneath her, snuggling up to the inside of the tire. The squirrel popped up onto the hood searching for the source of the heat, but chattered at the raccoon for startling it. The raccoon angrily chased the squirrel round and round until it expertly dodged into the tire well and into the engine bay. The fox flicked its ears and listened to the rodent as it scritched and scratched.

When morning broke and the first light touched the chrome bumper, the tired hunters emerged from the woods, Mary limping a little as Sam supported her weight. Dean found some little reserve of energy and ran over to baby, shouting about all the tiny animal prints all over her. He ranted and ranted until the energy he’d discovered extinguished. Castiel drove Mary and her car back to the nearest motel, Dean and Sam and Baby in the lead.

After a long nap and a good lunch, everyone sat around the diner table, planning their next move. Well, everyone except Sam, who almost always had his nose stuck in some article or book.

“Well, you guys can go home, I’m going to see the Grand Canyon.” Dean crossed his arms and puffed out his lips, his dimples more prominent now.

“Why do you want to see it so badly? I know John worked a case out here in Boulder once with you, it’s in his journal.” Mary wondered aloud. She and John had seen it a few times before the boys were born. It was one of his favorite places.

Dean kicked his feet under the table, eyes cast down. Castiel shifted uncomfortably in his seat, already knowing the answer.

“He said we had more important things to do.” The truth was that John had lashed out at Dean when he’d asked, yelling that the Grand Canyon had nothing grand about it and that he would never ever go there again. Dean wasn’t missing anything. When Dean had tried to ask why, he only received a black eye and bruised rib. He never brought it up again, and was so glad that Sammy had left for college already. After all these years though, he finally knew why. Mary. It had always been Mary.

Mary just shrugged in her innocence, dropping it.

Sam looked up from his paper. “Hey Dean, did you know that it’s the Impala’s 50th birthday?”

Dean snatched the paper from him, quickly locating the small paragraph dedicated to it on the bottom of the page. He grinned widely, already mentally planning out where to get some beer or booze on his way to Canyon to celebrate. And pie. There had to be celebratory pie involved. Maybe apple. Or cherry. Hmm.

Mary sighed and shook her head, still trying to grasp at the thirty years she’d lost. Castiel put a hand on Dean’s shoulder, giving him a knowing look. “Be careful.” It’s almost as if the angel could read his mind as this happened all the time.

Sam put his arms down on the table. “Alright, I’m going back home with Mom and Cas. If you get too drunk and fall into the Canyon, don’t call me,” he joked.

A few hugs and goodbyes later, Sam had pulled his bag from the back of the Impala and waved his brother off, belly laughing that Dean was wearing that silly hat, sunglasses, and camera again. He rolled her windows down, turned the music up as loud as he could and peeled out of the parking lot, turning the eye of every person and animal within hearing distance. Baby had that effect on people, even without Dean’s coaxing.

He parked her about ten feet from the edge of the Canyon, pausing for a moment after turning the key, taking in the view through the windshield. He felt so small there in his car, but so alive and powerful, like if he could, he could make his own canyon just by driving the Impala. He reached into the cooler in the back seat, withdrawing two beers. Closing the door, he was happy that he was wearing such ridiculous garb, as it blocked some of the sunlight beating down on him. His singers never left Baby, instead tracing gently along her lines as he walked to the front. Taking his eyes from the view for a moment, he turned and looked at her, patting her hood lovingly.

“Happy birthday, old girl. You’ll always be my Baby.”

He eased himself down, her grill temporarily holding his weight as he used her for support. He spread his bowlegs, enjoying the hard earth beneath him, somehow cool even in the heat. Dean popped the caps on both bottles as he leaned back onto her chrome, tapping the tops together lightly, then tapping one to her grill and setting it under her. He drained his slowly, savoring the wind and the beauty before him, “Night Moves” still stuck in his head from the day before.

He began to sing it. He actually sang very well, and discovered this behind the wheel of Baby when John started letting him take her out alone more. He wouldn’t ever sing like this in front of anyone, he was too shy for that. He’d rather look like an idiot than admit he was good at something artsy.

“I was a little too tall  
Could’ve used a few pounds  
Tight pants points hardly reknown  
She was a black-haired beauty with big dark eyes  
And points all her own sitting way up high  
Way up firm and high”

He gazed lazily into the Canyon, watching a small canoe drift slowly down the channel. He remembered being a lanky teen, smaller than the other boys his age, but taller. He laughed, remembering the time he was trying to impress a girl by climbing a bridge, and ended up ripping his pants in the process, so embarrassed that he’d run back to the cover of Baby and drove away, never looking back at the girl who was mocking him. He’d always felt so big when he was in Baby, especially behind the wheel. She might have a low profile, but she may as well sit higher than any truck out there.

“Out past the cornfields where the woods got heavy  
Out in the back seat of my ‘60 Chevy  
Workin’ on mysteries without any clues  
Workin’ on our night moves  
Tryin’ to make some front page drive-in news  
Workin’ on our night moves  
In the summertime  
In the sweet summertime”

It came to him in flashes as he recalled picking up girls from bars when he’d get bored or frustrated during a case, taking them to dark, quiet places and giving them a thorough tour of the backseat. Summer was his favorite—something about the sweat and heat made the leather scent stronger, the shocks weren’t as squeaky, and cool night air drifted in through open windows as moans and whispers of sweet nothings wafted out. Summer nights seemed thicker, a warm blanket shrouding him as he found his release.

“We weren’t in love, oh no, far from it  
We weren’t searchin’ for some pie in the sky summit  
We were just young and restless and bored  
Livin’ by the sword  
And we’d steal away every chance we could  
To the backroom, to the alley or the trusty woods”

He chuckled, remembering the few times he’d caught Sam in the backseat. Always the embarrassing big brother, he’d make sure to lean into the window, knock loudly and give a huge open smile and two thumbs up next to his face then run away. Sam hated when he did that. The Impala was the perfect size for Dean. He and his lady would always fit perfectly together, neither falling off. It was just the right height for him to grip her with one hand, and the roof with the other. He even had the perfect rhythm down, to where the bouncing of the car countered his thrusts perfectly in time, so he only had to do half the work. He cringed and tried not to think of his mom and dad enjoying the same thing.

“I used her, she used me  
But neither one cared  
We were gettin’ our share  
Workin’ on our night moves  
Tryin’ to lose the awkward teenage blues  
Workin’ on our night moves  
And it was summertime  
Sweet summertime summertime”

The few times John had let him take Baby out when he was a young man, Dean made sure to practice truly driving her. He imagined being chased, doing the chasing, NASCAR and jumping things like he’d see in movies. He would see how fast she could take a turn, see how many donuts she could do in twenty seconds, and see how fast she could go on straightaways, always pushing her to the limit. Sure there were plenty of close calls, but Baby was reliable and Dean treated her with care and love. When he was behind her wheel, all his worries faded. She gave him a sense of freedom and breathed the life back into his tired bones. He’d scream as her tires did, sway with her down curvy roads. She was his outlet, and he took extra care and pride in her for it. He’d always dig a little deeper than John did when he washed her, notice more while digging in her engine to replace a part. He never could replace just one at a time—if anything was even close to wearing out, he fixed it. John always scoffed about how wasteful it was, but secretly was proud that his son took such great care of something.

“And oh the wonder  
We felt the lightning  
And we waited on the thunder  
Waited on the thunder”

The sun was beginning to set, and Dean huffed at the irony of the dark clouds rolling in. Slowly, he stood up, soaking in even more of the deep Canyon before him. He walked to the edge, peering down. At one time, this would have scared him shitless, but he’s faced everything the universe has had to throw at him and come out (mostly) alive. He sucked in his breath and stopped singing for a moment, a chill crawling down his spine and seeping through his veins. Soft echoes of thunder rolled in the distance and he lifted his gaze. The sunset was peeking out from under the storm clouds, lighting the undersides in a soft red glow as lightning gently webbed across the top. It was amazing how he could see the storm so clearly from so far away over the Canyon.

He stepped away from the edge and walked past Baby, lifting the disposable camera that his large hands seemed to swallow. He looked through the tiny glass, capturing Baby, the Grand Canyon, the storm, and sunset all in on frame. Damn, she was beautiful sitting there, almost like she belonged. Then he turned his back and focused the camera in the same spot, this time with his face in the frame. He wore a soft, thin smile and the camera reflected in his glasses. He snapped the photo just before his hat flew off in a suddenly cool gust of wind. He stepped back to the edge, watching as it rode the wind. It floated on for some time before settling on a rock by the river. It was so far at this point, Dean had to squint. It really was a long, long way down. Dean took off his glasses and reached in the back for another beer. This time, he drained it quickly.

He began to sing again as he walked back to the edge.

“I awoke last night to the sound of thunder  
How far off I sat and wondered  
Started humming a song from 1962”

Dean lifted his arms out and spread his legs slightly, making his toes flush with end of the cliff. He closed his eyes, breathing in deeply, voice louder yet softer at the same time, smoother, lined with more emotion:

“Ain’t it funny how the night moves  
When you just don’t seem to have as much to lose”

His voice cracked on the last line, but he continued, reveling in the knowledge that one gust could take him over the edge, even after all that he’d been through, all that he’d faced, wind could end him.

“Strange how the night moves  
With autumn closing in”

When he finished the song, he crouched down, allowing his legs to dangle freely as the sun disappeared and the stars fought the progressing clouds. He laid down, hands folding across his chest. There were more stars than he’d ever seen in his life. He wondered how many Castiel had seen up close. When the storm finally shrouded his view of the sky, and rain poured from the angry heavens in torrents, he ran to roll up Baby’s windows. Already drenched and without a soul in sight, he decided to strip down to his boxers and enjoy the feel of the rain on his skin. He leaned against the Impala. Large droplets thunked off of her metal frame and Dean listened closer. Baby was producing a symphony all her own, without her engine even purring. Everywhere a drop hit sounded different. It was magnificent. Maybe it was her who taught him how to sing—she was a force all her own, and he knew even his voice could never carry so much grace and power as that car. Even silent and still she filled the air with her voice, her music.

Now, Dean wasn’t a praying man, but in that moment, he sent a quick one to Chuck above, wherever his holy ass was, and he thanked him for Baby, and prayed for another fifty years with her. He knew Chuck could hear him, and still chose to stay quiet, as with the rest of humanity. Lightning flashed before him, raising the temperature about ten degrees, as the large bolt struck the bottom of the Canyon, thunder booming all around. In the typical Winchester way, Dean would never admit it, but he saw that as a sign and he smiled. He tugged and pulled at his wet clothes the best he could then climbed back in the Impala. She roared to life when he turned the key, pulsing beneath him. Dean revved her a few times, yelling with every raise of RPMs as she growled with the thunder. He zipped away from the Canyon, splashing through a few puddles along the way for fun, taking simple pleasure in the way the water trundled off of her windshield before it was flicked away by the wipers. Dean would definitely be back, maybe he’d make it a tradition, and drag Sam and Cas with him next year. Yeah, that would be nice.

The open beer still sat untouched at the edge of the Canyon. In fact, it remained there for a few years, the silent statue a memorial of Baby’s birthday and all the memories made in her, Dean’s freedom, and Chuck’s answer. It was there through rain and sun, summer and winter, until a lonely child wandered from his bickering family, picked it up and wondered at the empty brown glass, then found peace when he chunked it into the valley below, feeling relief as it kept fading from sight.


End file.
